When he moves I watch him from behindHe turns and laughter Flickers in his eyesIntent and direct when he speaks I watch his lips

When he drives I love to watch his handsWhite and smooth Almost feminineAlmost AmericanI have to watch him

In his face Age descends on youthExaggeration on the truthHe caught me looking then But soon his eyes forgotAnd everything he seems to doReflects just another Shade of blueI saw her searching into you And ached a while

I watch his lips Caress the glassHis fingers stroke The stem and passTo lift a cigarette at lastHe dries his eyesFrom a shadow by the stairI watch as he weeps unawareThat I'm in awe of his despair